Anomaly
by Miss Whip
Summary: Behind the Mask: The Rise of Leslie Vernon. Leslie wants to see Taylor again, but she's not the same girl she was before. She's no longer the idea he's in love with, she's the complete survivor girl. Rated M for sex scenes, horror movie violence. COMPLETED - Removed, see Note.
1. Anomaly Removal Note From Writer

Hello,

The remainder of "Anomaly" has been removed from FF. As per the policy in the Author's Profile, the story had two consecutive chapters go un-reviewed for a month from the last update date.

Because the work still exists, it is being offered as an on-demand piece to anyone who'd like to request it via this page. If you'd like to read the remaining chapters and additional supplement pieces, message the author.

Any and all abusive messages will be ignored, abusive reviews will be deleted. Warnings about the story were posted, and the removal is based in the belief that lack of reviews means that people were unhappy with various elements of the story. I have a policy of removing old and/or unpopular work.

Anomaly may return to FF if and when they make the sequel to the original "Behind the Mask." Right now, I will be leaving up only the first chapter as a preview.

Thank you for understanding,

Miss Whip


	2. Taylor in Control

Anomaly

A/N: This is a continuation to "Behind the Mask: The Rise of Leslie Vernon." If you haven't seen it, get a copy because it's good! It should be noted that, like the movie, this is for adults only!

Maybe there will be more parts…

* * *

Some part of him wanted to believe that Tiffany and Clarice and Jamie weren't just anomalies, random persons of chance.

Tiffany had to be excluded to some extent. She really got into the whole business, in fact, she had studied it while her husband was, indisposed, and had taken a real shine to the process.

Clarice was an odd case as well, he was never entirely sure if she really understood what was going on. Mentally, she had been toyed with beyond anything else he'd seen, truly the work of a master. Did she love him? Maybe, maybe not, either way, she stayed by his side if not separated from his works.

Then there was Jamie, Leslie's best bet, the role model he wanted in her and Eugene. That old-timer had chased her for nearly a decade. He'd thrown bodies in her way, sliced up her friends, terrorized her across the states, and never won. Jamie was a true survivor girl, the kind who kept running until the sun came up or she came across an axe.

Once Eugene realized how much he loved her, he stopped chasing. He took off the mask, left the knife off the sharpening block and casually approached her at the bar. He wooed her, bought her a drink, danced with her to a rock song that had been playing in the car she'd been in on the night of their first encounter. She had been a naïve sixteen year old out with girlfriends to a college campus; he was a sorority house stalker that inspired works like "Black Christmas." After a year of courting her in the most gentlemanly manner he could muster, he confessed to her who he actually was. For the first time, she actually didn't run.

Leslie mulled over that story in his mind a few times. What was different in his story? Didn't seem to be any real running pattern. Fred, Mike, and Jason weren't great examples, though they had their girls. Chucky's Tiffany was bound to him in bloodlust and while Lector's Clarice stayed with him, the good doctor had the power of persuasion in his corner.

He thought he was most like Eugene, and they were happy, and that made him happy. If nothing else, he still had his career and he was damned proud of it.

Glen Echo was still reeling from his visit. A little smile of satisfaction always found its way onto his face whenever he drove by his allegedly ancestral home and saw it abandoned except for disintegrating yellow tape and wilting memorial flowers. Even the cops didn't have the stones to come back to pick up the crime scene.

Psychological scars.

He wondered if he had any regrets about appearing in that documentary. Maybe the exposure. Before, everyone was always trying to swept everything under the rugs, keep things quiet, maintain the white picket fenced suburbia of the supposed "good" to his "evil." A professional  
could go out, do his job, and then make a legend out of himself like a decent guy, but now... Leslie was concerned the idiots from TruTV might pop up as he was gutting a dumb jock and try to get an interview.

Taylor was justifiably famous these days. Doug too, although less so. Todd became one of those journalism martyrs, killed in the line of duty, his picture up at his grad school in memoriam, rest in peace, etcetera. Doc Halloran had fled, he wasn't really interested in being questioned. Some clever editing had erased his presence from the overall feature; Taylor had listed him as an advisor to the film making staff from the comfortable and legal distance of Reno. He wasn't an idiot, he was an Ahab, and he was out of limelight because he was awaiting Leslie's return. Like hell he believed that the world's newest supernatural serial killer had died in a fire.

They never just die in a fire.

The disappearing body trick hadn't exactly helped the theory. Leave it to him being over excited to make him forget to get a replacement corpse for the mortician.

Having his survivor girl so close, supporting him, and filming him. It wound him up into a knot; he was breaking new ground in his field.

Leslie parked his car and shut off the motor. He let his instincts scan the surrounding parking lot, but there weren't any obvious off-duty cops. Not that he couldn't handle himself.

Cars were scarce, his, a few others. Most other people were at work already, and this shop was far enough away from campus to deter the general student population. These were his old stalking ground, where he had found her.

Most students wouldn't have come here, but back before she was a teacher, she was one of those students that did. The shy little virgin girl trying to read some dry textbook far away from interacting with other journalism grads. For her field, she wasn't enough of a people person.

He grinned; all the reviews said he was the most "charismatic" of the pair. She'd offered to blur his face, but he'd come this far, he'd go the rest of the way.

That annoying little bell over the door rang as he walked in. The smell of coffee perked him up, but he tried to avoid caffeine. Didn't like the rush, and to be honest, it screwed with his cardio routine.

There she was; in a booth at the back, facing the door. A little part of him relaxed, she'd given him the seat facing away from the public.

So she wasn't agreeing to meet to turn him in, but he couldn't guarantee that she was on board with what he did.

Inconspicuously, he walked over and shuffled into the booth seat across from her. He marveled at her now; how far she'd come. He imagined that before, she would have just stared at the table. Now though, her eyes were locked on him every step of the way. It wasn't unfriendly, but the gaze didn't exactly invite him to sit and chat.

He loved it. There was something about an aggressive, confident woman. He made her and she made him.

"Hey Tay."

"Leslie." She let her hands fall to the table, "You said you wanted to see me."

"Yeah."

"Why? You disappear for three years and suddenly show up on my office phone?"

"I wanted to congratulate you on getting your professor job."

"Ever think of just sending a card?"

"C'mon Tay, we're old friends."

"Why haven't you called before now?"

He held up his hands. Unfortunately for him, the flame retardant gel hadn't done as good as job as he'd hoped it would. Technology had only come so far. She saw that there were places on his arms that looked a little, non-skin like. Some patches like that on his neck too when she looked past his hands, "Hiding and healing."

She nodded and took a sip of her water, "You're taking a big risk, coming here."

"I know, I'm pretty famous around here."

"Pretty famous everywhere."

There was that self-satisfied grin again. Taylor had spent her entire life avoiding the average jerks with that look, so why was she suddenly spending time with a guy who had that smile and preferred reenacting slasher flicks in his spare time?

Somehow she didn't think her mother's standard line of, "Well you sure know how to pick'em Taylor," would be strong enough here.

"Leslie," She leaned in across the table, "I gave you what you wanted."

"Not everything."

Her voice dropped lower, "I know I'm your 'survivor girl,' but how much more can I do for you?"

"Run?" He looked optimistic and her eyes widened. Laughing lightly, he held up his hands, "I'm just kidding."

The look on her face was not amused, "Why?"

"I wanted to see if you'd come."

Taylor's tongue caught at that. With her head slightly tilted, she searched his face for any clues. He looked hopefully at her, and she didn't find herself willing to diminish that.

"I wanted to see if you'd come, alone, after seeing me on the job."

"Are you going to kill me?"

Without asking, he grabbed her hand, "No! Terrorize you a bit, maybe, but I can't kill you! I need you!"

Tay initially tried to pull her hand away, but he wouldn't release it, "Is this the Ahab thing?"

"I told you, there are rules. You don't kill the Ahab or the Survivor Girl."

"You already tried to kill me!" She raised her voice a bit and he put his hand on her mouth.

"Quiet!"

Taylor grabbed his hand and pressed it down to the table, "Don't."

Her behavior made the fabric on his jeans tighter, "I had to make sure that it was you, and it was."

"That doesn't erase the fact that you still tried to."

"I couldn't kill you if it was 'you'." She understood his logic, but was still skeptical.

"You didn't know it was me."

"I needed you to prove it to me."

Taylor looked down at where she was still holding his hands; she squeezed them, "Why did you really come here?"

He sighed, "I needed to see you again."

Nodding, she looked closely at him, "You told me that you loved the idea of me, I guess I just thought you would show up before now. Three years is a long time, Leslie."

"I did love the idea of you," He stopped, almost a touch afraid to meet her eyes and that penetrating gaze, "But now that you're 'you,' I just love you."

"You barely know me."

"I know you, Tay. I've watched you for a long time. I know that before Glen Echo, you felt like a scared little girl and after me, you feel like you can take on the world. I helped you, I helped make you just like how you helped to make me."

"That's a little chauvinistic."

He gave her a look of exasperation, "Convention."

"You have to respect it, yes I know."

"You've become everything I could ever want." His fingers interlocked with hers, "C'mon Tay. I don't want to wait until you and I are old like Jamie and Eugene."

"You want us to be together?"

"Yes, we're _meant_ to be together." He almost looked shocked that she hadn't put the pieces together herself.

Taylor paused, and for the first time, she allowed her eyes to wander around the restaurant.

The distracted waitress wiping down tables; an old man in overalls taking another sip of a cup of black coffee, the buzzing of the neon lights that surrounded the clocks in some faux retro fashion.

And the serial killer sitting across from her had just asked her to be with him.

The setting was far too mundane for that sort of request, she wasn't comfortable with it. Coming back around to him, she sighed, "What do you mean though? You want me to help you out? Be okay with what you do?"

He laughed, "You don't have to drive the van, just don't call the cops."

There was a smirk on Taylor's lips. She didn't know what to say to him. Normal people weren't supposed to be with serial killers, and survivor girls aren't supposed to fall in love with the guys running behind them with scythes. Didn't it mean she was sick in the head, that she herself was disturbed if she admitted to herself that she might like him?

Leslie wasn't a bad looking guy and a motivated guy in a strange way. She crossed her legs as she thought about being with him in the physical context. Once she'd learned that he wouldn't hurt her, she wondered about what it would be like to cross over to his side. Not participate, but being an observer like she'd been trained to do. How many survivor girls got the chance for protection from the man they defeated?

"Awhile back, you said that I would have to learn to understand."

"Do you?"

"I don't know."

They studied each other and he tapped his fingers on the table.

"I just don't know." Taylor repeated herself, because it was true and she didn't see any point in lying to him. He'd know if she lied.

Leslie nodded, dejectedly, "I have something for you, in my car. I didn't want to bring it in with me."

"What is it?"

"If I told you, it wouldn't be a surprise, would it?"

"When it comes to you and surprises." She was wary.

"Follow me for old time's sake?" He gave her a very enchanting grin, "I told you, I would never hurt you, Tay."

He'd followed his code of ethics so far.

She stood up. Her skirt swirled around her legs, bare from just above the knee down. The light air feeling contrasted with the damp feeling that was suddenly now more apparent. He was the only man who had ever done that to her.

She'd thrown down the bill money and tip carelessly on the table. He loved her every move, despite what appeared to be her rejection, he loved her. The skirt especially, she would have never worn such a bold piece before. Hopefully she had worn it for it him and herself. And that wave of her hand when the money dropped from it, it was wonderful to see her confidence.

They walked out in the parking lot. Taylor walked briskly next to him, and not with her arms wrapped herself. As they walked, she noticed his odd gait and saw that he felt the same way that she did. She blushed. He had parked around the back of coffee shop, away from curious eyes. It reminded them both of their first collaborative work of sliding bricks to scare teenagers. She had a moment of pause, but it passed. She had made a decision.

He opened the door to the car. As he turned to reach into the backseat, his instincts kicked in. Without the proper space to move though, he was a sitting duck.

Damn him for being over excited, and for not seeing the signs in her eyes at the table. He was usually such a good read of people.

She brought her foot up and kicked him in the back of the knees. Being in the ideal position for it, he fell sprawling forward.

"What the hell?" He yelled at her. She must be going to turn him in, maybe murder him in the back of his own car. Survivor girls could be tricky creatures, but they generally weren't backstabbers, unless in the heat of combat.

Flipping over onto his back, he stared up at Taylor. A smirk on her red tinted lips, she climbed into the car after him and closed the door behind her.

Sitting back on her heels, trying to place herself comfortably, she held down his legs.

"Tay, what are you doing?" He barely got the sentence out before she crawled forward and kissed him.

Taylor was going to take what she wanted.

He kissed back, running his hands through her short blond hair. His erection strained against his jeans, painfully so. Pulling away, she leaned back and went to work on the button and zipper to free him. She reached for him and began to stroke.

"I'm doing what I've wanted to do for years."

"Jesus." He gasped; hardening fully under her touch. Leslie certainly had not been expecting this.

"You said you love me," She leaned down again, kissing his neck, whispering into his ear, "I love you too."

She was sure that it was love or something similar that was driving her. In truth, Taylor didn't know what had possessed her to suddenly shove him into the car and have her way with him. Her body wanted this; the wetness that had been growing since before he'd even shown up was a pulsating heat now. It took control of her and demanded that she respond.

Would she be with him tomorrow? Who the hell cared? Right now she was in the backseat of a car with a man she desperately wanted to fuck to his brains out and she was in the right skirt to do so.

Throwing her leg over the edge of the seat, she was able to straddle him well enough. He was still surprised enough to be completely captivated by her. Watching every movement, he let his hands fall to holding her waist.

Lifting herself up, she took hold of him and guided him into her. For an inch or two, he went in easily before she suddenly stopped. Everything halted as he simply stared at her. Her face was tensed and waiting, a small bead of sweat on her temple. She looked nearly as shocked as he was that they were at this moment.

Her eyes found his and she let herself fall down fully upon him, impaling herself on his rock hard member. Trying not to be loud, she allowed a tense cry to escape her throat. Half pleasure and half pain, Tay gripped the front and back headrests to steady herself. Something in it reminded him of one of her screams of anguish from that night. It sent shockwaves through his body and he bucked his hips upward. He was rewarded by another cry from her.

He promised her that he would never hurt her again, but the line between pain and pleasure was so thin, and she seemed to agree.

Leslie allowed one of his hands to move toward her and touch her most sensitive area. Stroking her once, twice, three times, all the elements of pain in her voice were replaced by mewling pleasure. She began to moan and her eyes were half-lidded.

Raising her hips slightly, she gave a weak thrust against him and both of them just allowed themselves to be overcome with the sensation. He was captured in her slick wetness, and it was so tight that he thought she might be able to force him to come just by allowing him inside.

As he brought his hand back to her waist, he noticed something strange and he looked closer. Had this been his first encounter with her, he would have been upset, but as it was, he was elated. She trusted him with this; she was a woman whose innocence was now lost and she was hell-bent on getting what she wanted.

Taking her hips in his hands, he grasped so hard that he left bruises. He helped her to move and she took the eager lead, rolling, thrusting and doing whatever else felt right. She felt so good to him, and he knew that he wouldn't last this first time. God, he hoped there would be a second and third, and a fourth. At least once more on his kitchen table and he wanted to take her in the woods up against a tree in the pitch black of night. Someplace where he could pretend that she was scared and needed him, and where she wouldn't be and would only wrap her legs around his waist and scream as loud as she could for him.

She slammed her hips down into his, he bucked up into her and held her; burying himself to the hilt. Every inch of him was inside her and he rocked her back and forth. Reaching down, she allowed him to move her as she played with herself. As soon as she felt her body begin to flow and move on its own, she pressed harder. She wanted to come and now.

They were moving together, hands touching, focused on each other's pleasure. Meeting each other thrust for thrust; neither of them could last though. He was simply too excited to be here, and she was subject to it being her first time.

Suddenly, he thrust upward hard and it hurt her in the most delicious way. His muscles tensed and Tay could feel warmth in her lower body. He growled her name and the bruises on her hips deepened.

She followed him. While her whole body stilled, her muscles tightened and milked him for every last drop. Unable to restrain herself, she screamed his name before collapsing forward onto his chest.

For a moment, they laid together, breathing hard and holding onto one another for dear life. Taylor lifted her head and kissed him, staring deeply into his eyes.

"Does this mean you want to be together?"

"I don't know Leslie."

He was shocked, but she put a finger to his lips, "How can we be together? I'm the survivor girl and you're the serial killer. How can you be the evil in the world if I'm not the good?"

Leslie grinned, "You're not the Ahab, Tay. You don't have to be the good guy."

"I don't?"

For the first time, she was looking to him for answers since he'd shown up. Everything else about her was so commanding that it caught him off guard to suddenly be the answer again.

"The survivor girl just has to survive me, it doesn't matter how."

"Yeah?" Taylor looked at him. Her eyes were sated and strong, still filled with that empowerment that he'd seen the night they had faced each other in the orchard storehouse.

He was just so damn happy.


End file.
